


The End Is Where We Start From

by Torchwoodlover123



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 13th Doctor - Freeform, Angst, Depression, Fan Characterisation, Mental Illness, Post Regeneration, Pre 13 Fic, author interpretation, jodie whittaker - Freeform, sad doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 06:51:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13208295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torchwoodlover123/pseuds/Torchwoodlover123
Summary: The Doctor is struggling to come to terms with her new body, the TARDIS is trying to help, even The Doctor doesn't know how to refer to herself anymore.





	1. Somewhere south of Croydon

**Author's Note:**

> i might continue this is you enjoy it but can you plz kudos or comment otherwise i'll assume no one likes it and id be sad bc im in love with this doctor already

The TARDIS made a groaning noise as debris fell from the ceiling and showered the bathroom tiles. The water was beginning to cool and the golden wisps of regeneration energy seeping from her skin into the water were getting smaller. After today’s earlier ‘incident’ it was wonder she had even been able to find her way to the bathroom, even on a good day it took a while to turn down the right corridors, considering the state of her beloved TARDIS at this point in time it was a miracle. They were no stranger to the old girl going off on one whenever they had regenerated before, but throwing them out entirely and collapsing in on herself and they fell to the planet below, well that was new. Sorry not they- she hadn’t gotten used to referring to herself with a different pronoun and her thoughts kept shifting between third person and first, regeneration always made it tricky to use singular pronouns anyway what with her former selves being present in her head more than usual, with her 12th self adding himself into the mix of voices now. It had taken her four hours to locate the police box, two of those hours she spent trying to purchase an oyster card before giving up and using her sonic to “slightly, well definitely, illegally” acquire a travel pass, she spent half an hour trekking across a field, another half walking back across the same felid when it became apparent her sonic had given out the wrong signals (must’ve been knocked in the fall, she made a mental note to tweak the settings once back in the safety of the TARDIS) and for the final hour did her best human impression in order to blend in on the high street. Judging from the stares she received she concluded blending in wasn’t really her thing. Especially considering the fact she wore a Crombie coat that had been ripped in various places and hung off her small frame due to being at least two sizes too big, or the way she stumbled as she became aware of the gaps at the ends of her shoes where her old toes used to reach – she shuffled in an attempt to prevent herself slamming into the pavement and she supposed the most alarming part of her appearance would’ve been the threads of golden energy swirling up into the air around her. So here they were, well here she was, in a bathtub, surrounded by debris, somewhere south of Croydon and for the first time in while, she felt very alone whilst feeling almost suffocated by the amount of people around her. She could count at least 13 other voices in her brain, not the mention the echoes of past friends filling up the TARDIS corridors as the vessel ran through its database to put itself back together. Her eyelids drifted closed and she pulled her knees up to her chest, huddling in a ball.

 _The oncoming storm._  A title she once owned floated into her head and she shook it away, not wanting to dwell on what she had become, the oncoming storm huddled in a bathtub as her own ship lies in ruin around her. Not only was it embarrassing, it was depressing and weak, odd and new, exciting but terrifying and more than anything, lonely.

Her eyes opened again and she gasped when she saw the bathroom had shifted into a 22nd century wet room, sleek white tiles and built in jets sparkled. She allowed herself to smile and ran her hand along the towel that had materialised onto the rail next to her. The TARDIS was trying to cheer her up, not unheard of but definitely unexpected after their tiff earlier when the machine ejected her new body from its control room. She stood up and pulled herself out of the tub into a towel, she sighed and reached to touch the wall, the TARDIS hummed in response and neither said or thought anymore about the earlier ‘incident’ from then on.


	2. There’s always tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflecting is never easy, especially when it’s not only you looking back upon your past, in the doctors case there’s 14 of them.

It’s cold in the console room, according to the bit of the TARDIS manual she kept and didn’t use for firewood when she got stranded in 19th century England that time, the central heating takes longer to repair after spontaneous combustion than the rest of the ship does. Her gaze wanders down to the stripy scarf in her hands, her fingers twitch eagerly and for a second she believes she’s gathered enough courage to put it on. After all it wouldn’t be stealing, technically it still belongs to her, to him, to them; then her mind wanders to the people she was and she knows she cannot compare to them. She drops the scarf onto the console and makes a mental note to put it away later, by now she knows it will lie there for as long as possible, her mental note will be ignored by her future self because she knows now it feels too much like hope and hurt for her to lay bare skin onto it again.   
The TARDIS seems to understand what is going on and when the doctor returns to the console the scarf is gone, she doesn’t winder where it is, she doesn’t want to know anymore. The optimism she woke up with has dwindled since she picked up the scarf and she decides it is better to retire to the library rather than do the maintenance work she had planned. The TARDIS would last another day without an alter to its main frame, as the doctor walks through the winding corridor to the library she oats the wall in silent apology and the Tardis murmurs back.

**A few hours later.**

The sky is on fire and everything hurts. There are shouts in the distance but every time she tries to move a limb to get to them she finds she’s unable to move. So she just watches the sky burn up above her, just listening to the shouts get louder and hearing the cries get more desperate until suddenly all that’s left is silence. The deafening kind, the silence that leaves your ears ringing, the only silence that waits around for something tragic so that it may settle into the space left in the aftermath. The absence of sound is suffocating and the sky seems to be getting closer until she swears she can feel the heat on her face and the air growing thick with silence. Just when she thinks it will smother her she wakes up.

At one time the doctor would tell her companions she never slept. It wasn’t exactly a lie, she never slept out of choice, why waste 8 or 10 hours being catatonic when there are planets to explore? But being other three thousand years old took its toll on a Time Lord, or is it lady now? The doctor found herself asleep a lot recently, since regeneration a fog had descended upon the TARDIS, and by that I don’t mean the fog that literally descended a few days ago when she threw a spanner at one of the dust collectors in the storage room.

Since she had regenerated her mind had become cloudy, her head constantly felt heavy and when she wasn’t asleep she felt as though everything she saw was through a thick veil. It was no surprise that she had fallen into the swimming pool 3 times in the past four days, easy mistake to make really when your bedroom is on the left and the pool is on the right, she must make a note to kindly ask the TARDIS to move it. Just for the time being.

It was a Wednesday morning, wait, was it? Well it’s always a Wednesday somewhere in the universe. Anyway it was a Wednesday and the doctor had managed to read two pages of her book on astrophysics for advanced learners before sleep overtook her mind. The nightmare was unpleasant to say the least so in an attempt to wake up her brain she trudged down the two flights of stairs to the TARDIS kitchen. Polka dot mugs lined the cupboard and she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach the red and white one precariously balanced on another mug at the back. Even reaching for the mug seemed to be a struggle today and she felt her brain go fuzzy just as she placed both feet firmly on the ground.   
Coffee solves everything, or is it tea that she prefers? She’s too tired to remember anymore and by the time she empties the coffee into the mug she realises she’s out of milk. Sighing in defeat she goes to leave the kitchen, making a mental note to leave the Tardis soon, she knows she’ll also ignore that one but that isn’t the point.   
“There’s always tomorrow eh old girl?”   
The TARDIS makes a clanging noise as if she’s disappointed in what the doctor has become.   
“I know, I’m sorry, I’ll try harder”  
The bed doesn’t seem as welcoming as it did before but as the fog settles into her vision the doctor has the luxury of a dreamless sleep, no fire sky, no loud screams just whispers at the edge of her vision.

_Oh fantastic._   
_Rose Tyler I...._   
_Geronimo_   
_Would you like a jelly baby?_

And in her sleep, she smiles. There is always tomorrow.


End file.
